Not coming back
by Tom's Mum
Summary: A companion piece to Going Home.


She remained sitting at the table, as Fidel and Dwayne continued to celebrate the young officer's promotion. She had joined in of course, clinking bottles with the others, but she found her attention increasingly drawn to the conversation taking place a couple of yards away. She couldn't hear what the Commissioner was saying – his voice, for a big man, was remarkably soft – but she quite distinctly heard Richard's rather incredulous '_Me_?' She glanced across at him. Did he appear to be upset? Was the Commissioner administering one of his rebukes? It didn't look like it. Finally, the Commissioner got up to go. Richard sat there staring into space, before looking across at her. She must have shown her curiosity in her face for she had the distinct impression that he was inviting her to join him. So under the watchful eye of her mother she slipped across to the other table and slid into the seat recently vacated by Selwyn Patterson. She looked at him questioningly, as if to say 'Well?'

"I think he just said I'm going back to London for a few days." He still looked stunned by the news.

Her initial reaction was to be pleased for him, so she smiled encouragingly, but her smile turned quickly to a baffled shrug as he failed to respond.

* * *

On the journey home he had explained the circumstances surrounding the visit. He had only an hour to get ready, so she left him alone to pack his suitcase, took a couple of beers from the fridge and wandered out onto the veranda. The cicadas were humming, the birds chirping melodiously and the waves breaking gently on the shore. The late afternoon scent of the flowers hung heavily on the warm tropical air. Everything, in fact, to promote a relaxed and contented frame of mind. But she felt neither relaxed nor contented.

She had had time now to reassess her initial reaction to Richard's news. It was clear from the way he was bustling around and talking rather manically that he was excited at the prospect of returning to London. Why this should surprise her was a mystery. It wasn't as if he hadn't been talking continuously about escaping from the island ever since he had arrived. From Day One he had complained non-stop about everything: the sand, the lack of forensic equipment, the tea, the milk (the wrong type, apparently), the seafood, his house – the list was endless. And of course the heat, although the silly man had only himself to blame for refusing to wear more suitable clothing. But she had thought that lately he had become more reconciled to his lot, had started to enjoy life on the island, had come to value the friendship that his team had offered him.

More than friendship, perhaps.

She took a long swig from her bottle and stared out to sea. There was no point in denying that – on her side at least – the relationship had gone beyond friendship. Quite how the antagonism and mistrust of the early days had mutated into the state in which they currently found themselves, she really did not know. He had been very rude at the beginning and she had had to give him a serious and forceful lecture on how to treat her, but after that the respect had grown on both sides, despite their very different working methods. And out of respect had grown friendship, undoubtedly. And out of friendship had grown … what exactly? She wasn't entirely sure herself, but she knew she would miss him badly. She would miss picking him up in the morning and their little chats on the journey to work, she would miss seeing him at his desk just across the office, she would miss the arguments they still had, she would even miss the continual complaining. She would certainly miss the heart-to hearts which had increasingly become part of their deepening relationship.

There were more sounds of drawers and cupboards being opened and closed, of cases being zipped. Of course it was natural that he should be eager to return to the home he had not visited for such a long time. But she finally named the fear that had been growing deep inside her ever since they had arrived at the shack, a fear that was slicing right through her and crushing her with its very weight. She could not remember when she had last felt so despondent.

Emerging onto the veranda, he called to her in evident high spirits.

"I tell you, it's a job to know what to pack. It'll be winter over there, you know. I checked the weather – overcast, four degrees." He laughed in pure delight. "It's not even that cold in my fridge!" She tried to raise a smile at his joke but failed dismally.

In quick succession he brought out onto the veranda the suitcase, his briefcase, a coat and his passport, boarding pass and phone. The physical evidence of his imminent departure made her feel sick with misery, but she tried to pull herself together.

"But you'll be back on Friday." She said it more as a reassurance to herself than a question.

"Yeah, that's the plan. Of course, things might change. I'm not saying they will but, you know, being here wasn't really the plan, was it, not exactly – it just sort of happened. One minute I was in Croydon and the next …" He gave a little laugh, and trailed off.

Well, that was it. She was right to be so afraid. She had known as soon as he started to pack that the lure of London and his old life would be too much for him to resist. He would fix it somehow. After all, how could a small tropical island hope to compete with the sophisticated excitement of a bustling metropolis? In no time at all he would settle back into his old life, his old routines, and she – _they_ – would be quite forgotten. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

She heaved a sigh and looked down, looked anywhere but at him. He seemed to realise that his words might have upset her somehow, might perhaps have been a little tactless, so he blundered on in his typically bull-in-a-chinashop manner. He was such an idiot sometimes.

"I mean not that I haven't loved it, you know – I have, and you …" _He surely didn't mean that. _"Well, _all_ of you, you know, the gang. I've loved **every **minute of it." _Oh please._ "Well, maybe not every minute, you know. In the main. Anyway, it's only until Friday, … probably. No need for big good-byes." _No, he wouldn't want an emotional scene, that's for sure._

She was finding it hard to say anything. Her throat felt constricted, she wanted to run away and howl. But he was still talking. Couldn't he see how unhappy she was? What did the wretched man want now?

"Oh actually I will need someone to look after Harry."

"Harry?"

"Yeah, my lizard." She couldn't help it, she smiled. He continued defensively. " Well I had to give him a name, didn't I? I couldn't just keep calling him Lizard."

"Only you could call a lizard Harry." It was so very like him, it hurt.

"Yeah, well it was in the paper when I was trying to think of a name. Prince Harry. I think he looks quite like him." He went inside to the fruit bowl and brought out a mango. "He likes fruit, you know. Well, mangoes and, um, any bugs you can catch, you know. He sort of likes it best if you mash the bugs up in the fruit. No big deal – a couple of times a day. Well, in the morning at 8 and again at 6."

Another time she would have smiled at litany of care instructions for one small green lizard and the slightly insane miming that accompanied it. But not today. She could bear no more.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of your lizard."

That was it, there was nothing more to be said. There was an awkward pause. He seemed vaguely to realise that something was wrong but was as usual quite clueless about how to put it right; she was summoning all her resolve to voice the fear that was increasingly consuming her. He picked up the remaining bottle of beer with a little laugh. Nice that he can find something to laugh about, she thought savagely.

"Ah, beer – just what I need."

She looked him straight in the eye, trying to force him into honesty.

"You won't come back, will you?"

There, it was out. She had clearly shocked him and he stumbled to reply.

"Yeah, of course I will." It was the obvious response, but not one that carried any conviction with her. She knew him too well, had listened for too long to his complaints, to his homesickness.

"No you won't. You'll get home. It will be cold and raining and you'll have a pint of beer in your pub and you'll want to stay there."

She never knew what he would have replied, had he not been interrupted by the arrival of Fidel and Dwayne. The atmosphere was instantly broken. Perhaps it was better that way. She knew he liked her but very much doubted that she was anything more to him than a convenient friend in a strange and alien environment. She really didn't want to listen to any further denials of what was becoming blindingly obvious. He couldn't wait to leave. In fact, the more he protested his intention to return, the less she would have believed him.

"All packed, Chief?"

Well, at least she had the satisfaction of knowing that she had seriously flustered him. Even for Richard, the reply to Dwayne's enquiry was incredibly disjointed and incoherent.

"Yes, well, I mean, not very much to, um … It's only a few days."

"It won't be the same without you, Sir." It certainly wouldn't, Fidel had got that right, at least. The taxi arrived and honked its horn. He looked relieved to escape from a situation which was threatening to become emotional. _Never mind, Richard, you'll soon be free of us, free to return to your ivory tower._

"Oh gosh, there's my car", he cried, picking up his case, bag and coat, racing off the veranda as if he was running from a wild beast. "Yeah, coming!" She stood watching as he started to walk towards the car.

"I'd better take that, Chief" said Dwayne, stowing his case in the boot.

Did he realise he had left his passport, ticket and phone on the little table on the veranda? Was it some kind of sub-conscious gesture? Or was it perhaps that in his eagerness to escape from her – _them_ – he had just completely forgotten they were there? Either way, it was a sure sign that he was rattled, and she took a small degree of comfort from that. For a moment she considered allowing him to leave without the most important parts of his luggage. It would certainly stop him flying off that night. But then she would only have to go through the same process, the same emotions again tomorrow. So she picked them up and waved them at him, an ironic and rueful smile playing about her mouth. He stopped in his tracks, turned and took them from her. He glanced at her once, then again – almost as if he was on the brink of saying something – but obviously thought better of it and loped off to the car in the bizarre, half-running gait that was so unique to him.

"Hold on!" He opened the door and threw his coat and briefcase onto the backseat. She suddenly realised she was about to miss saying goodbye to him so she jumped down from balcony and ran over to join Dwayne and Fidel. They lined up almost as if they were being inspected by the Commissioner.

He turned to face them, his face stony. She guessed he had probably never had to say goodbye to work colleagues before – certainly not ones who cared about him and would miss him. _They_ wouldn't be throwing a party once he had gone. So he was going to find this difficult.

"Right." His tone was clipped and breezy. It had 'Let's get this over with quickly. Nothing sentimental, please' written all over it.

"So we'll see you on Friday, Sir."

"Yep. Absolutely." _Yeah right. _Fidel offered his hand then, hesitating slightly, stepped forward and put an arm round the Inspector in a rather awkward hug. Richard stood rigid, arms like ramrods by his sides. He pressed his lips tightly together and gave a half-nod. _Yes, he's not at all at ease with this. Well, let's give him something to really unsettle him!_

"Safe flight, Chief." No hugs from Dwayne, just a firm handshake. It was her turn. This might well be the last time she ever saw him. _Make the most of it, girl._

She took a deep breath, set her shoulders, stepped forward and kissed him quickly on the cheek. If they had only been alone, she would have gone for his lips, but even though she suspected Fidel and Dwayne were not unaware that she harboured distinctly unprofessional feelings about the Inspector, she simply could not do it in front of them. And it would of course cause huge embarrassment to Richard – surely enough to banish any lingering intention of coming back. So she had to settle for just a peck on the cheek. But suddenly it was not enough. The very closeness of him went to her head, intoxicated her senses. She flung her arms around his chest, clung to him momentarily and delivered three or four pats on his back. Then equally suddenly came to her senses and released him abruptly, acutely aware that there had been no answering response from him.

He had once more stood there rigidly. Why couldn't he have hugged her back? Surely they were good enough friends for that? Urggh, that buttoned-up English reserve. Or was it just that he didn't want to mislead her, didn't want her to get the wrong idea, so that when he didn't come back she wouldn't feel too let down? When you looked at it logically, it was all too likely. He was telling her, in his own way, not to get too close, not to hope for what he wasn't able or prepared to give. Well, at least she knew where she stood now.

He got into the car without saying a word, without even looking at her. She felt totally deflated, close to tears. _She would not cry._

The car started to move. She stared blankly ahead as he drove out of her life, probably for ever. Leaning out of the window he called out to them.

"Back before you know it."

And pigs might fly. Well, she would wait. But she wouldn't be holding her breath.


End file.
